


Hidden Figures

by ao3afterdark



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward, F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest, and carver has a boner, in which kirkwall has a masquerade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ao3afterdark/pseuds/ao3afterdark
Summary: The streets of Kirkwall are flooded with joyous crowds celebrating the routing of the qunari, all hidden behind masks. Carver Hawke spots his older sister in the crowd, newly made champion, and decides that there is only way he wants to celebrate.





	Hidden Figures

The first ten days after the defeat of the arishok in single combat were spent recovering, repairing what damage they could and taking account of the dead and dying. It was a grim, thankless business, and there was not a citizen of Kirkwall who could restrain a sigh of relief at the close of the tenth day. The tenth night was supposed to be spent in contemplation, but there were more than a few who were too eager for the following day, sitting up late with breathless anticipation like children before feast day.

The eleventh day dawned on a population who had discarded the mourning golds and reds for a riot of colors, who hid their loss behind painted masks. The Free Marches had long since taken on the Orlesian tradition of wearing masks, but only for occasions such as this, to mark a death. Or many. The idea was to honor the departed with one last celebration, but, Carver thought as he wandered Hightown with glass in hand, anyone who really believed that wasn't in any position to argue.

The first day had been entertaining enough, he would admit. He'd spent it drifting from glass to glass, engaging in any number of games for the occasion, but very few of his fellow templar recruits had been given leave to attend as he had, and he quickly grew bored on his own. What friends he'd had before were his older sister's friends, and he had no desire to find them. And, at first, he had no idea what he would do if he saw his sister himself, until he did. 

It was ridiculous, obscene, but the idea, once planted in his head, refused to leave. It curdled during the dying hours of the first day and throughout the second, gaining detail and focus. By the time he found Niav near the end of the third day, he was more than certain. He was eager.

He recognized her instantly, of course. Even with the top half of her face obscured by an elaborate affair of feathers and steel, capped with a hood, he knew her. He would have known his sister at midnight on a moonless night. Everything from her laugh to the flutter of her hand when telling a story to the way she carried herself shrieked her name to anyone who cared to listen, and he did.   

She moved from one knot of revelers to another, her full throated laughter ringing through the air in a way that ordinarily would have made him smile or scowl, but, today, made his blood quicken until it thundered in his ears. He found himself grateful for the temporary freedom from his templar armor, and not just because his sister would have recoiled away before he had a chance to see his plans through. His step was softer without the weight of a hundred odd pounds of metal, near silent, the way a lifetime on the run had taught him to be.

Niav gave a start when he first touched a hand to her hip, jerking her head up to stare at him with a rustle of feathers and fabric. The eyes of her mask weren't holes but glittering mirrors that hid her distinctive gaze, and he saw his father's blue eyes looking back at him when he smiled at her, when he smoothed his palm around her waist and stepped close enough that he was certain she could feel the heat radiating off of him. He was not disappointed to see the barest edge of a blush tinge her cheeks where her mouth had dropped open, wordless and gaping.

He'd overheard her tell Isabela once while deep into her cups that she had always had a guilty fascination with anonymous sex, where there were no names, no consequences, and so he was confident that she would not pull away. 

And she did not. 

Niav shuddered but, rather than pulling away, turned just slightly into his touch, enough that her skin was a hair's breadth from his own. Her mask curved away from her mouth so that he could see her tremulous, tentative smile, one that he answered with a kiss. 

It was almost chaste at first, soft and sweet and slow as the golden drip of a summer morning, but the taste of her overwhelmed his intentions, and he surged forward to deepen the kiss. She made a soft noise into his mouth, startled, but again moved to answer him, twining close so that her curves fitted against him. It felt perfect, it felt right, and he did not bother to fight down the urge to drop a hand down to cup her ass and grind her down the length of his cock. She gave what was unmistakably a moan, and when he pulled back just far enough away from the kiss to see her, she nodded, breathless and shivering, not with fear but anticipation. 

There was laughter at their back as they melted away from the crowded thoroughfare, good natured and teasing. He couldn't help but wonder what the merrymakers would think of their champion if they knew just who she was sneaking off with hand in hand, if they would throw her down as fast as they had lifted her up. If she would be furious with him, or grateful. He didn't know, not for certain, and he found himself looking aside to where her slim fingers wound together with his. 

Away from the torchlight of the streets, her mask took on new angles and shadows that seemed almost daunting. They gave him pause. When she turned her head to look at him, all he saw were twin pools of writhing flame surrounded by feathers.  It was like looking at some strange guise taken on by a desire demon meant to torment him. From the neck down she resembled nothing and no one but his sister, but accentuated by the dark, by this evening in particular, so that his eye was irresistibly drawn to her every curve. When he tore his eyes away and up to her face, he was looking back into the open mouthed, silent scream of a hawk. 

He was reminded suddenly, uncomfortably, of his father, and the fact that his very insistent erection was not less so for that thought ought to have been troubling. Instead, his teeth flashed in the dark, which Niav took to be a more genuine smile instead of the victorious one it really was, thankfully. 

Once planted in his head, the reminder of his father was impossible to dislodge, and more and more, he found he didn't want to. If the dead were here tonight, as some claimed, then he hoped his father would be held captive, just as much a participant as he was. What would he say, he wondered, tucking Niav closer against his side.

She ducked her head in response, but it was hardly the length of a breath after that she laid her hand over his and slid their hands up to cover her breast. He let out a huff of a laugh, startled but more than pleased at her daring. 

He was unable and unwilling to look away from his father’s reflected eyes as he closed his hand as she directed with a shift of her fingers, grasping and weighing her breast until she leaned into him with a soft sound that went straight to his groin. He had his doubts that his sister would appreciate knowing that the idea of fucking her, attractive enough on its own, grew more enticing by the moment with every thought of their unseen audience. 

He hoped his father’s spirit had a good vantage point, because he intended to put on a show. 

They hadn't moved too far into the alley before he stopped them, which was wholly deliberate on his part. The knowledge that anyone and everyone could walk past and catch a glimpse of the city’s champion spreading her legs for her own brother was just too enticing. No one would ever know his identity except him, of course, but then, he always had had a thing for being noticed. 

He'd stopped them just before a shipping crate located at just the right height so that when he lifted her up onto it, he could settle in between her legs. He smoothed his hands up her thighs, bunching her skirt in between his fingers. He gloried in the rustle of her skirts as he dragged them back and forth, only gradually dipping his fingers until he felt the warmth of her skin against his own. A full body shiver wracked down his spine, tugging him closer with an undeniable gravity he had no intention of resisting. 

Bare of her usual armor, the line of her neck looked vulnerable, far more naked than he'd seen her in years, and he wanted to see more, needed more. He clenched his eyes shut tight on a soundless curse, struggling to remind himself to take his time, to savor these moments because they would not come again soon, if ever, but then she tightened her hands in his hair, and the drag of her nails across his scalp made him groan and press an open-mouthed kiss to her neck. She tasted like sweat and leather and something deeper, something he thought might be unique to her alone. He chased that taste, hauled her flush against him until they both gasped. He drank in the sounds she made as he pressed scorching kisses across every inch of her skin he could reach, lingering in the shadow where her breasts were pressed close together by her dress. 

He tilted her chin up with his nose and sealed his mouth to the top of her left breast, sucking at the skin hard enough to leave a mark as he started to undo the knots of the lacing holding her dress close and her modesty closer. She made a small, uncertain noise, and he rocked hard against her, driving it away completely so that she made no further move to stop him as he tugged the lacings open wide, baring her to his gaze.

His sister was hardly well endowed, but he did not give one fifth of a shit about that when he finally had the opportunity to touch her bare breasts, to own them, mark them as his. He'd jerked himself off more than once to the thought of touching them, touching her, and now that he was, it was hard to stifle the laughter building up in the back of his throat.

_Look at you_ , he wanted to say to her as he wrapped possessive hands around her breasts, watching with rapt attention as she twisted on the crate with a sigh.  _I wonder what father would think of you now, spreading your legs for me, your own brother. Do you think he'd be ashamed?_ He wanted to ask as he shoved her legs up on the crate so that her dress rode up, baring a smooth expanse of thigh that he wasted no time in touching, in claiming.  _Or do you think he'd be just as fast to touch his mouth to you?_

She'd moved her hands to his shoulders, her fingers scoring faint lines across his skin as his hands drifted high, higher, ever closer to where they both wanted him to touch. And, ordinarily, he would not have. He supposed a lifetime with his sister had taught him the value of teasing, of prolonging the moment until anticipation made your heart race and your skin tingle, but just now he wanted nothing so much as to feel his sister and know that in this one, stolen moment she belonged to nothing and no one but him, and he pushed two fingers into the core of her without warning. 

She was impossibly soft and yielding around him, quivering tight when he crooked his fingers, wringing out a sound that was half a sob. It was dizzying, near overwhelming, and he had to lower his head to her shoulder to shudder out a gasp. Her cunt felt just as good as he'd known it would, better, and he couldn't wait to split her with his cock. 

She sighed as he began to slowly pump his fingers in and out, her head lolling back on her shoulders. The change in position laid her bared breasts on display, begging to be made his, and he wasted no time in doing just that. He wrapped his lips around a nipple, teasing the barest pressure of teeth even as he gripped her other breast tight with his free hand. She gasped out a cry that made his cock twitch against her, and he suddenly needed to touch her everywhere, now, now. 

He growled frustration at the barrier of her dress and lifted his hand away to grip the neckline of her dress. She started to protest, to move, and he bore down with lips and teeth and tongue until she sagged back on a wail, her legs inching further apart. He grinned fiercely against her skin then yanked hard on her dress, tearing it open wide down the center. 

Niav’s hands fluttered, clearly unsure what to do or even whether she wanted to. He settled the matter by pulling his hand free of her, to a whimper, and turned her over onto her belly on the crate. Once done, he had to pause, to stare at his dear, beloved sister where she whined for him, her ass in the air and visibly wet for his attentions. 

He passed a shaking hand down her folds, wringing out a high, wordless sound of need. He found himself wondering, again, just what his father would have made of this as he pulled himself out. He was so hard it was almost exquisitely painful, and he gritted out her name, soft, near soundless, as he pressed the head of his cock between her folds. Even that much made him lightheaded, gasping as the feeling of her wetness slick against him, but he did not enter her. 

He wanted this to be her decision. Not for any grand moral stand, but because knowing that his shy, sheltered older sister was so eager to be fucked by him that she would be the one to force his cock deep within her was something that he knew he would remember at night years from now, again and again and again. All he needed was for her to do it. 

And she did. 

She wriggled on the crate, trying to encourage him. When it became obvious that that was not what he wanted, she took a deep breath and pushed back against him, inching herself down the length of his cock. They both moaned in unison as he spread her wide and full and open. He could feel her shiver with every inch she took, trying to adjust to his girth. The idea that she might be a virgin took him then, and only inflamed him further. 

There were still several inches of his cock left when he thrust into her hard. She let out a sharp cry, one that he wanted to hear again, and again. _Let me hear you sister,_ he wanted to say. _Let him hear you. I want father to see you begging for my cock like a bitch in heat._

He put a hand between her shoulder blades and the other on her hip and yanked her back onto him hard, until she cried out, until he felt her cunt clench around him in a very, very interesting way. Gasping, he pulled out slow, inch by inch, until just the head remained inside and she had started to twist beneath him with a whimpering sigh, and snapped his hips against hers, burying himself deep inside her. He swallowed down a moan that had started to be her name, turned it instead into a ragged exhale as he set a bruising, relentless pace. 

Her every twitch and cry and moan was intoxicating, was everything. He'd meant to take his time, but he soon found that impossible, found it obscene. She was his, had always been his, and he'd waited too long to take his time now. He wasn't gentle. He did not take her the way you would take a lover, but how you would take a whore, and a cheap one at that.  And the most exhilarating part was that she was no less eager to be taken this way. She seemed even more so, in fact, moaning long and loud as she pushed back to meet his every thrust. Her legs were spread wide to admit him, and the muscles in them trembled with every slap of his balls against her, every delicious inch of friction as he claimed her. If she did have a lover, he was wiping them clean from her and leaving nothing left but what he gave her. 

Every long stretch of her spine to arch back into his thrusts, every gasp when he shifted his grip to her breasts and used them as leverage to increase the pace still further. She would remember what his cock felt like the next time she lay with that lover, maybe even be thinking of him when she did, and the thought of that made him groan.

He’d bent nearly in half over her by now, sucking in panted breaths like a bellows, and when he turned his head he could see someone standing just a few short feet away, silhouetted by the firelight at their back. He couldn't make out who they were, but he could clearly see and recognize the regular up and down motion of a hand over a cock. Carver grinned, a thrill of excitement cooling warm up his belly, and lifted her leg still higher so that his next thrust went harder, deeper, wringing out a guttural moan from her. She bucked back into him again, then again, and finally, at least, started to beg. 

“Help, help,” she gasped, almost a whine, but instead of pulling away she was rolling her hips to slide herself down his cock. She wasn't asking to be saved from him, but for him to help her come. “Oh, please, help. I need- I need you to-” 

He bit down hard where her shoulder met her neck and she cried out, clenching tight and tighter around him as he withdrew from her. The alleyway was cloaked in shadow, so he had his doubts that the watcher from the mouth of the alley could see much of anything, but, and this made him groan and shove back into his sister hard enough that the crate ground against the cobblestones, their father had the best seat in the house.

He could feel his release building up at the base of his spine, but it wasn’t enough just to take his pleasure from dear Niav. He wanted her to chase her own. He wanted to feel her make herself come on his cock, and he wanted it with a bone deep desperation that made his breath come hard and heavy across her back. Every thrust into her felt like she was taking all that he had to give, but it wasn’t enough, not by half. He slowed his thrusts and shifted, grabbed hold of one of her hands to push it between her legs.

They both moaned aloud. He could feel the moment she started to grind into her own hand, the flutter of her cunt around him as he bottomed out. She keened for him, a wild, artless noise that was half moan and half a scream that came straight from her toes, that only grew louder with every hard thrust slamming into her. She was still begging, still pleading for him, panted half words interrupted by moans that seemed torn out of her, and every single one spurred him on. “Please,” and “I need you to-” punctuated with the very softest “oh” as her fingers sped on herself.

She was close. He could feel it in the stutter of her hips against his and the need crackling in her every word. Swift, he yanked her hair back and brought their mouths crashing together. The kiss was punishing, taking everything he wanted and giving nothing back, the way you would deign to kiss a whore. And she ate it up. She shuddered out a wail, jerking back into his thrusts. He swallowed it down, just as he did her wordless, inarticulate groan as she started to come. It tasted like Niav and sex and satisfaction.

He did not let up as she shuddered her way through her climax, and in fact sped up, glorying in the spasmodic clench of her cunt around his cock. He wanted this to go on forever, wanted to slick her with his cum so that she remembered him every time her thighs rubbed together tonight and in the long nights to come, but most of all he wanted to come. Needed to. 

As rough as he had been before, he was even more so, now, pushing her off of him so that the crate rocked and yanking her back until she sobbed out a moan, again and again and again until the whole world was distilled to sound and movement and need. His every breath was a grunt, face locked in a snarl he buried in her throat. He bit down hard as he felt his orgasm cresting, pushing her down into the crate as he pounded into her right up until the moment it took him. 

He came harder than he had in his life, seizing tight against her as his mouth dropped open around the shape of her name. He almost said it then, screamed it out for the whole world to hear, but at the last moment he swallowed it down and sagged down onto his elbows.

She was still panting beneath him, shuddering through the aftershocks as she came down, and he was treated to the delightful sensation of feeling himself soften inside a cunt made slick with arousal and his own cum. When he at last pulled back, he had time enough and more to admire the sight of his cum dripping from between her legs. It was the most arousing sight he had ever seen in his life, watching rivulets of his cum, his, trail down her legs to stain the tops of her boots, and for a moment he was tempted to tell her to leave it before he remembered himself. 

She’d turned around to brace herself on the crate, and now he could see the true extent of the ruin he had made of her dress as she futilely tried to hold it together. It was ripped almost down to her navel, baring her breasts, which were covered with bruises in the shape of his hands. He stood for a moment to admire his handiwork as he tucked himself away, offering her a grin and a low bow before he turned on his heel, whistling.

On his way out, he paused to clap the man still standing at the end of the alley on the shoulder. “I already paid for two hours,” he murmured, low enough that Niav would not catch it. “Don’t think the whore would object if someone else would take my turn.”


End file.
